Mixed Waters
by misto713
Summary: When a Stormcloak's fire kills his friend, Kharag has no choice but to leave Solitude. Gilfre's life has been falling apart ever since her lover left for war. Two desperate people who have what the other needs. Maybe, just maybe, they'll find happiness along the way too. Kharag gro-Shurkul (Solitude Sawmill) / Gilfre (Mixwater Mill).
1. Chapter 1

Warning: This fic is WIP. I have no idea when I'll finish it. Other than that, no warnings planned - aside from maybe something explicit down the line ;)

Pairing: Kharag gro-Shurkul (Solitude Sawmill) / Gilfre (Mixwater Mill)

-mixed-waters-mixed-waters-mixed-waters-

"For the last time. No!" the owner of Half-Moon Mill snapped at him when Kharag tried to persuade her to hire him for work.

"Why not? You are alone here, you must need help," he growled at the Nord, Hert, as she introduced herself when they first met.

"I'm not, in fact, alone here. My husband is just… sleeping," she crossed her arms over her chest. "Besides, even if I was alone, it would change nothing. Half a year ago, we'd be happy to have you, but now?" She looked in the direction of the mountains, "With Helgen burned down, the only ones we supply are the people of Falkreath. And they have their own mill right in the city. There just isn't enough work for three people! I'm very sorry, but you can't work for us." She dismissed him and turned to leave.

Kharag was desperate. He already tried the mills in Morthal and Riverwood. He was quickly running out of options. And coin. "I work hard! I could…"

"It's not about working hard," the woman told him tiredly, "We just don't need your work. But…" she looked him over, considering.

"What," he half-growled, uncertain about the look she was giving him. It looked… hungry. And not in a good way.

"Why don't you stay a while?" the Nord was suddenly all smiles. It was creepy.

"What?" Didn't she just say she had a husband? Now Kharag was getting suspicious.

She walked up to him and boldly laid her hand on Kharag's shoulder, "The road is long and hard, you could stay the night."

"Err, no thanks," he growled uncertainly, then started carefully backing away. He had no idea what this woman's deal was, but his instincts told him to run.

"Oh, that's such a shame. Are you sure? You could stay for dinner," the woman wouldn't let it go.

"No. I'm going now." It didn't matter what exactly she wanted to offer him, he was not interested. Especially in a woman that looked more like she wanted to eat him than fuck him. Also, he might be an Orsimer but he wasn't _that_ desperate for a woman.

"Very well," the creepy Nord sighed. Once Kharag turned and started walking away, she called after him, "You could try Mixwater Mill, in Eastmarch! I heard the owner is hiring!"

Kharag turned back to give the Nord one last suspicious look, then growled, "Thanks," and all but ran away from that place.

Yet… The moment the mill disappeared from view up, he sat down and put his head in his hands.

Another mill, another rejection. ' _For a country at war, they sure don't need much wood,'_ he snorted to himself. Or maybe they just didn't want it from _him_. He bitterly remembered the days when the only complaint he had were the disgusted, sneering faces of the snobs in Solitude when Hjorunn was too drunk and he had to deal with the idiots himself. How he wished he could go back to the way things were.

His life used to be fine, dammit! Until that fucking Stormcloak tried to burn the mill. Everything went downhill from there.

She might not have gotten far, but she did manage to make a nice little campfire right on top of their house. Hjorunn's house. When he was sleeping inside, drunk off his skull, as usual.

Kharag had run sinside the burning house, desperate to pull the old man out, but he was too late. Hjorunn was so drunk that he didn't wake up on his own and by the time Kharag got to him, the smoke already choked him to death.

If only the idiot didn't insist they live away from the city, so the 'guards don't nose around'.

If only he wasn't drunk that day.

If only Kharag was faster.

If only…

He sighed, then slowly stood up. It was no use beating himself up over it. Hjorunn's been dead for months now. Actually, if Kharag was honest with himself, Hjorunn's been dead for years. There was nothing but the mead left, years before Kharag even came to work for him. But whatever he might have said about the old drunkard, he accepted Kharag as a worker and they even shared profits and for that, he was grateful.

It was only after Hjorunn died that the real problems started.

At first, everything went even better than before. Without the Nord to drink away the profits, the mill had more coin than ever before. Most of it belonging to Kharag now. But then the taxes got raised. Only for him. Several times over. In one month. The people sneered down at him as usual, but now they also raised prices of basic things, like food. Several times over. In one month.

It got so bad that Kharag barely made ends meet while working at his full strength, from dawn till dusk. So when that idiotic milk-drinker of a noble, Erikur, tried to raise the taxes _again_ , Kharag had enough. He told the milk-drinker to piss off and sold the mill to the first idiot that showed interest. Which happened to be Fridrika, living at Katla's farm. A 'proper' Nord.

Where the farmer got the money, Kharag had no idea, and he didn't care. He packed his few things into a single bag and left Solitude to its own idiocy. Let them break their own backs trying to supply the Imperial army's never-ending needs, he no longer cared.

But now he needed to find a job. Quickly. Before he gave the last of his coin away for food.

"The old man must be laughing in his grave," he muttered angrily to himself and started hiking it up the mountain.

When he sold the mill, he never expected that this country wouldn't want him to work for them. He didn't talk much, worked hard and didn't care what the owner got up to, as long as they paid him on time. He really didn't expect to have _this much_ of a problem getting a job.

It would be kinda funny, if he got a job at Mixwater Mill. He'd go from supplying the Imperial Army to supplying the Stormcloaks. Well, as long as the owner paid, Kharag didn't care who bought the timber. Whether it was the Imperials who enslaved his people only to use them as meat shields in their wars, or Stormcloacks who hated them just for existing. But as long as they paid for work, he didn't care what they thought of him.

He just hoped the owner of Mixwater needed help; he really did.

It might very well be his last chance.

-mixed-waters-mixed-waters-mixed-waters-

"Huh," was the only thing Kharag said when he saw the overgrown grass, one house with holes in the roofs so big he could see them even from the road and the other one quickly catching up… and a woman working her ass off at the mill.

The road had been dangerous and long. Bandits and beasts everywhere; he was lucky to have learned to fight as a boy, or he never would have made it. Too bad he couldn't afford a mercenary to protect him with the coin he had left. Not anymore…

He made his way over to the small woman near the lumber pile. His eyebrows lifted in appreciation when he saw her lift a whole tree trunk by herself and throw it down on the saw. Hjorunn wouldn't have managed that if he tried. This imperial seemed to be made of stronger stuff.

Good.

She wiped her sweaty brow with a sleeve, then she noticed Kharag standing nearby. "Yes? Can I help you?"

Kharag grunted, "I'm here looking for work."

The smile she gave him was… radiant. And relieved. "Great. Get an axe, and bring me all the wood you can chop."

He only grunted again, "Not like that. I want to be a worker at this mill. Stay here."

Her eyes widened. "Really? That's amazing news! Any help around here would be greatly appreciated," she looked almost ready to cry from happiness. "I can hire you right away."

Kharag looked at her suspiciously. He was not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, usually, but this was all a bit too… easy. "Just like that?"

The woman snorted and waved her hand at the houses and the mill itself, "Look around. I can't manage all this work on my own." Her hand rose to comb through her sweaty dark hair. "I used to have five good men who worked the mill with me. Then this war started and they all ran off. Idiots with mead in their blood," she muttered angrily under her breath.

Kharag nodded in agreement. She must have her hands full, then, if this mill could give enough work to six and now she was alone to do it all.

But there was still one important thing to discuss, before he got to work, "How much?"

"Hm?" She looked at him, not understanding what he was asking.

"Coin. How much for my work?" He will work, gladly, but not for free.

"Ah, yes, of course. Well, I'm alone here, so I don't have much right now, but I can give you three hundred gold per week. You'll also have a place to sleep and I'll share my food with you as part of your pay here. Is that alright with you?" She asked a bit uncertainly.

Kharag's eyebrows lifted. "For that price? Sure."

On one hand, he was used to taking part of the profits; to work as a partner and not a common worker. On the other hand, 300 gold per week was not bad at all on its own. With food and lodging covered? That was more than what he got from Hjorunn, even with shared profits.

This will do. It definitely will. He offered his hand to her. She looked mystified for a second, then shook it.

"Kharag gro-Shurkul," he grunted, eager to start working now that he had a job.

"Nice to meet you, Kharag. I'm Gilfre." At his raised eyebrow when no second name followed, she added quietly, "Just Gilfre…"

He sensed a story in there, but didn't care enough to press. He simply nodded to her, ending the conversation.

There was work to be done.

Kharag walked over to the lumber pile waiting to be sawn and lifted one to be cut with barely any effort, already long used to the weight. When he pulled the lever to start sawing through the wood, he noticed that his new boss, Gilfre, was watching him with mouth hanging open.

"What are you lookin' at?" he growled at her. The look she was giving him was creeping him out. It was almost… reverent. And obsessive. He suddenly had a feeling he'd have trouble leaving here if he decided this was not a place for him.

"I… I'm sorry," she smiled at him sheepishly and stopped the creepy stare. "I'll go cut the branches from the rest of the trees; prepare them for sawing."

He grunted at her, "No need, I'll do that while the machine saws."

"Oh," she stood there for a moment, uncertain in her own home. "I'll… go prepare some lunch then. It's almost time anyway."

He nodded to her and grabbed the small hand-saw to get to work.

-mixedwaters-mixedwaters-mixedwaters-

Gilfre couldn't believe her luck. Not only did she have a worker again, his strength and willingness to work were… amazing. Not only that, he was an Orc, too!

She was glad he was an Orc, really. A Nord would probably run away to fight for the Jarl within a month. An Orc would have less reason to do that. Watching him work, she also fully realized that as an Orc, he was much stronger than a human. Any human. Even Kjan, when he still lived, wouldn't have lifted the log **that** easily.

So what if the man was as ugly as they came? He was here to work, not to win a Dibella beauty contest. At least this way there would be no risk of him breaking her heart. Or winning it in the first place. She smiled and stirred the stew with renewed vigor.

Once the food was ready, she carried the pot and two bowls outside. Good thing it was the middle of summer. The sun shone bright and warm, no clouds in sight and she didn't need to freeze to death just to finish all the work.

"Food's ready!" she yelled in the brief silence between sawing.

Her new worker Kharag lifted his head, nodded to her, but went back to work with a grunt.

She smiled and with a shrug, sat down on the crates by her door to eat her lunch. If the man wanted to work, who was she to stop him? Moments later, her eyes were drawn back to Kharag. He really was a strong man. Not as… wide as a warrior would be, but his arms were were covered with tightly corded muscles of a lumberjack. Someone who did hard, manual work, all day, every day of his life. The sight was very… comforting.

The startling golden eyes were a surprise, even if they were common for his race, from what Gilfre knew. Combined with his dark hair and green skin, he looked very exotic to a woman who got used to the sight of Nords. She almost forgot what Orcs looked like since she moved from Cyrodiil. Even while she lived in Bruma, she never saw too many of them in the cold mountain city.

She finished her stew and set the bowl aside. When she tried to stand, though, her legs wouldn't obey her. The exhaustion set in fully, then. She sighed.

It was getting harder and harder to stand up nowadays. Her lunch now usually took about two hours. Not because she took that long to eat; she just couldn't stand up afterwards, not without at least a couple hours of rest.

Things will be different, now that Kharag was here.

Gilfre leaned back against the wooden walls of her home. Just a few minutes of rest, then she'll go help the man.

The mid-day sun shined bright, warming her tired body. Was it just her or did the day get brighter once Kharag started working? She relaxed further and closed her eyes. In a few minutes, she will stand up. She just wanted to enjoy the day for a few moments. Any minute now, she'll stand up.

Any minute…

She was asleep before she even realized it.

-mixedwaters-mixedwaters-mixedwaters-

A/N: I've always liked both of these minor characters. Kharag gro-Shurkul who works his ass off while hisfriend/boss drinks away all profit, and the imperial Gilfre working for Stormcloaks, all alone, when all her help ran away to fight. Well, Gilfre needs help and Kharag would be better off with someone who wouldn't bordeline abuse him every day, so... Here's my attempt to get them together.

Hope you like it! :)


	2. Chapter 2

Kharag grunted in annoyance when he saw the Imperial fall sleep. "Well, at least she's not drunk," he muttered angrily and hefted another log to be sawn.

He just wanted to finish sawing this one, then he'll go eat the stew. Hopefully, there was something left for him. He was promised food after all.

At first glance, this woman seemed so different from Hjorunn. She worked hard, without pause, even if her own home suffered for it. She just did her job. Now, though… Kharag wondered if his first impression was wrong. Time will tell if she'll become another Hjorunn or not. He only prayed she wouldn't be worse. After all, now he was not a partner in this business, but a common worker. He didn't even have that flimsy protection.

His work done, Kharag wiped his dirty hands on the equally dirty shirt and went to check what was left in the pot. The Imperial didn't even stir when he took the almost full pot into his hands and sat down on the crates next to her.

At least she left him enough food. More than enough, actually. He put a spoonful into his mouth. It wasn't half-bad, either. Hmm, maybe he'll take care of the wood cutting and sawing while she cooked and took care of the mill. Would be more than Hjorunn ever did.

He took a good look at her sleeping face. Nice features, like most Imperials. Drawn and tired, with dark rings under her eyes. He gave her shoulder a gentle nudge to wake her up but got no response. He frowned.

"Hey, you awake?" he asked her in his normal, loud voice, not bothering to keep it down. Nothing.

A strange thought entered his mind. That wasn't the way people usually slept. Was she… unconscious?

He took a good look around again. This place was a mess; the only thing that was in any good shape was the sawmill itself. The buildings around… he'd seen better cared for hovels. That was when he connected a few dots. How did the owner of Half-Moon Mill know Gilfre was looking for workers? This woman had to have run a profitable business for some time. Alone.

With a sigh, he stood up and went inside to clean and put away the dirty pot. It would not be the first time he took care of a partner that got themselves knocked out for good. 'Usually from mead, rather than hard work, though', he thought and a small smile played around his tusks. He much preferred Gilfre's reason.

When he stepped outside to continue working, he hesitated. He knew exactly what to do with Hjorunn when he got so drunk he passed out. He carried the stupid old man inside, laid him down on the bed on his side and made sure he had water once he woke up. Doing the same thing for this woman was different, though.

Kharag shrugged his shoulders. What did he care what the woman thought about him? So long as he worked hard, there should be no great grumbling about how exactly he treated her. How he helped her. So long as she didn't feel threatened… but Kharag had no intention of so much as touching the laces of her dress while she slept.

The moment he picked Gilfre up, she sighed in her sleep and laid her head against his chest. Kharag couldn't help the small purr that escaped. Desperate he was not, but… it's been a while since a woman last showed any kind of interest in him. Maybe he'll go to the city once he made enough money and… deal with his needs.

Laying the Imperial down, he noticed she had a bed for two. Did she have a husband once? Maybe he died in the war, as all her other workers did.

He straightened. No matter. He wasn't paid to stand around and think about things.

There was work to be done.

-mixedwaters-mixedwaters-mixedwaters-

Gilfre woke up with a gasp.

A moment later, she realized she was in her bed, still in work clothes, when she clearly remembered just closing her eyes for a few minutes outside. She must have fallen asleep and… and her new worker carried her inside.

Gods, what he must think of her! She covered her eyes desperately. Here she wanted nothing more than to make sure the Orc will stay, to make herself into the best employer to ever be, and then she fell asleep on his first day without waking for… what time was it anyway?

A quick look outside revealed a quickly darkening sky. Her eyes widened in horror. She jumped out of the bed and ran outside.

The sound of ax striking wood had her turn her head towards the Orc. Kharag. Cutting firewood.

"Oh." Nothing else entered her mind. Not only did he not leave her, he was still working. She felt her eyes grow wet with tears.

The orc paused in between moves, then turned towards her, leaning on the ax. "You're up."

"Ah. Yes. I… I apologize, I didn't…" she stuttered through the clogged up throat, not knowing how to react to his simple statement. It was not an accusation - just a simple observation. That was… good.

Kharag grunted, "It's fine." He turned back towards the pile of firewood at his feet, lifting another log to be cut.

Well, that was… curt. Gilfre rubbed her arms against the sudden cold. Did that mean he will stay or…

"Please, come inside," she needed to persuade him to stay. Somehow. Not working him to the bone would be a good first step.

He looked at her, annoyed. "The work is not done yet," he growled.

Gilfre smiled at him, "Actually, it is." When he turned towards her with a lifted eyebrow, she waved her hand around, "I already managed to fulfill the quota for the week yesterday. I'm making more in case the Stormcloaks request more… as they usually do. But all that we managed today is merely a… insurance, that we will have enough to sell, even if something happened."

Kharag chuckled and laid the ax down beside the pile.

She was a bit shocked, hearing him chuckle. Until now, the only noises she heard him make were grunts and the occasional short reply. She honestly did not know he could laugh. She shook herself and beckoned him inside her house. It was time for dinner anyway.

Good thing there were two chairs at her table. This way he had somewhere to sit while she cooked the evening meal.

Looking down at the contents of the cooking pot, she decided to buy some meat for her new worker when the merchant came by again. While she usually ate the fish caught in her nets, it might not be enough to feed an Orc. He seemed the type to prefer red meat. Venison, maybe?

Her eyes darted to look at him, once again. He looked really awkward sitting at her table; as if he had no idea what to do now that there was nothing to, well, do. The entire house was filled with strange tension.

Kharag broke it first, "When do the Stormcloaks get here?"

"In the next two days, at most. They usually visit once a week to take the arrows for fletching together with most of the logs and firewood. All that's left then goes to Kynesgrove." She replied absentmindedly, still wondering what she could offer to make him stay. "I can give you your pay when they come, too."

"Appreciated," he muttered. "I want to… go check the city, in a week or so."

The ladle in Gilfre's hands almost fell into the stew. She turned her scared eyes towards him, "You want to leave?" Her voice trembled when she spoke. "Why, if I may ask?"

The Orc's already dark cheeks turned even darker with a blush. Kharag stammered for a moment, then huffed and crossed his arms over his chest and growled in embarrassed annoyance, "A man has… needs. I won't be gone for long."

Needs.

She heard that before. Many, many times, in fact. Frald and Bjarke used to say that as an excuse for disappearing for weeks on end.

Desperation twisted her gut. Kharag couldn't leave for so long! She didn't want to go back to working fourteen hours a day, just to make the mill profitable and keep the 'gracious acceptance' of the Stormcloaks to allow an Imperial to cut their wood instead of a 'proper Nord'.

A thought entered her mind and she clutched the ladle in her hands harder. There was a way to keep him here, at Mixwater, wasn't there? Kjan never left because of 'needs', after all. Why would he, when he had a willing body right here, at the mill? One he didn't have to pay for…

Could she do it? Offer Kharag the use of her body, so he wouldn't leave for the city? She took a closer look at him. He was not as… hideous as many Orcs were described. Nor as ugly as she remembered the occasional Orc traveler in Bruma. While not handsome, not by far, in the darkness of the night, his… attentions might be… bearable. She swallowed.

"You could… with me…" she stuttered, on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"What?" the Orc looked at her, unsure if he understood her right. There was no way she just…

Gilfre took a deep breath. "You could… satisfy your needs with me. There is no need to… leave for the city." She blushed, hard, and wrung her hands in her dress.

His mouth fell open. He stared at her as if he'd never seen a human before. Gilfre couldn' help but cross her arms over her chest, mirroring his position.

After a few moments without Kharag's reply, the awkwardness level in the room rose up to unbearable levels. When she couldn't stand the silence any longer, she spoke again in a trembling voice, "So, what do you say?"

Kharag narrowed his eyes, considering her for a few moments, then barked, "No." No explanations, no reasons… just a plain 'no'.

Gilfre felt a wave of shame pass through her. Gods, she knew she was tired and didn't really have time to take care of her appearance, but surely she must not look as horrible as the whores in Windhelm. Half of them ex-Stormcloaks, most likely missing limbs. Still, to be refused outright like this - by an Orc, no less - that hurt.

"May I ask why?" she asked him tersely.

Kharag snorted as if he smelled something unpleasant. "I don't rape."

"What? I just offered! It would be no rape…" her bewilderment must have been obvious for he interrupted her harshly.

"You don't desire me." He glared at her as if she just insulted him. "The whores are clear, it's business for them. I don't know why you offer, but I don't care to be made a fool."

"You can't leave for weeks on end! I can't work here alone!" She didn't want to go back to the brutal tempo from before. Not when she just found someone to work for her again, when she relaxed for the first time in… months? Years? She lost count a long time ago.

"Weeks?" he startled and gave her a bewildered look. "It… that don't take weeks. A day at most, with the journey…" he gave her a considering look as if he didn't know is she was that clueless or making fun of him.

"I know that," she blushed again, "But my previous workers always took at least a week to get back."

Kharag paused to stare at her for a moment. "Well, I don't. I'll be back the next day at most." He almost sounded reassuring, as if he only now realized what the real issue here was.

Gilfre swallowed heavily and nodded to him. He nodded back, then awkwardly took the bowl of stew from her hands and thanked her.

After dinner, he stood up and aimed outside. She watched him in bewilderment. "Where are you going?"

He stopped, then slowly turned back to her, "To sleep, of course. Workers sleep in the other house, right?"

"Err, yes, but it's not... it's not fit to live in. I… haven't had time to clear it in… well, it's been some time. And there are holes in the roof." She stated, uncertainly.

Kharag grunted in affirmation, "Yes. But there is no other place to sleep."

Gilfre cleared her throat, more awkward now than before. "You could sleep here."

When she saw his suspicious look again, she was really sorry for her offer from before. Hopefully, it won't haunt their relationship. With a sigh, she explained, "Just sleep, in the bed. It's big enough for two. Or one of us will take a bedroll and sleep by the fire."

Kharag hesitated. On one hand, he honestly didn't want to sleep on a moldy straw bed under a leaky roof. On the other hand, he didn't know this woman, and as desperate as she was to keep him here… he didn't know how far she'd be willing to go, what she'd do to… well.

In a strange twist of fate, he was worried for his modesty. From a woman. Who offered. He chuckled quietly and shook his head. "Thanks. But I'll sleep in the workers house."

Her quiet sigh of relief told him that he made the right choice. She offered, sure, but her heart wasn't in it. It would be no better than rape if he took her on that offer.

"Very well. Good night then." She nodded her head. "I'll make sure to do something about the sleeping arrangements tomorrow." And she meant it. If he worked as fast as he did today, the mill was in no danger of going under from lack of wood to sell. She'll have enough time to finally do something about the state of the worker's house.

Kharag nodded and walked out of the door.

Gilfre sighed and sat at the end of the bed.

'That could have gone better,' she thought to herself sardonically. 'I think I almost chased him away with that offer.' She snorted.

That Orc was so strange. Gilfre didn't know many men who would have refused that offer. Sure, she might not be a stunning beauty anymore, but still, free sex. Most men would have taken her up on that offer. And the reason he gave her was just as baffling. It wasn't because he just plain didn't want her - he refused because she didn't really want him.

Who even cared about that? Kjan didn't. Not that he ever hurt her, no. But whenever she tried to tell him no, tried to push him away, he'd continue at a slower pace, whisper filthy things in her ear and tease her until she let him do what he wanted. Made her 'his woman'.

For some reason, she felt that it wouldn't be the same with her new worker. As if he'd… respect her wishes on this, and wouldn't push until she wanted it too. Wanted him. For that reason alone, she might actually want to try…

Gilfre felt as if her thoughts hit a wall. Was she seriously considering…?

Yes. Yes, she was.

She combed her hair with a hand.

It might have been too long for her, too. Maybe it was the fact that she slept more today than she had some nights, or her desire to keep him at Mixwater at all cost, but she actually considered inviting her new employee into her bed.

Huh.

Perhaps women had needs too. If so, hers have been abandoned for too long.

With that thought, Gilfre stood up to clean up her table and prepare for bed. Tomorrow will be another long day, and even with a hard-working helper, there was still a lot to be done.

-mixedwaters-mixedwaters-mixedwaters-

Kharag took a deep breath, inhaling the cool night air. This was easily one of the weirdest and most taxing days in his life, and he counted leaving his stronghold and arranging Hjorunn's funeral into that.

But at least he had a job.

He looked around. The stream here was much faster, stronger than it was in Solitude. Gave more power to the saw, and demanded he work faster. There were moments when he felt even his strength tested, and he was used to working for two. Kharag shook his head and wondered how that slim little Imperial managed to keep the saw profitable for so long.

Or maybe she hadn't. He threw a dubious look at the worker's house. Little more than a hovel, really. All but fallen apart after the workers left.

Well… good to know he was needed, at least.

Desperately needed, going by the pretty little Imperial's offer just moments before.

He walked over to the door and tried the handle. To his surprise, it opened easily. He almost expected it to be rusted through. Thankfully, it didn't seem to be that bad.

The inside was dark and cold, with a large hole in the roof above one of the beds. 'Definitely not taking that one', he thought to himself and checked the rest.

The house has probably been a decent one. Couple years ago. Now Kharag had to pick the least rotten bed at the far corner near the wall and pray he wouldn't get sick. He picked up the bag he placed just behind the door before he started working, and set to make at least a small flame in the hearth. 'Good thing I work at the mill,' he thought as he poked the wood. 'At least there's always enough firewood around.'

His work done, he checked the house once again and settled in the bed.

Uncomfortable, but he had far worse on the road these past few weeks. He could definitely sleep in worse conditions if it meant he'd get to settle in one place and have a steady pay for his work. Maybe make enough to buy some shares in the business one day. As he had at Solitude's sawmill.

He turned to his side and looked out into the still chilly house. He almost regretted not taking his new employer on her offer. Almost.

But the look in her eyes stopped him. He had never seen a woman look at him like that. Disgust? Sure. Disinterest? More than his fair share. Fear? Sometimes, though he tried his best not to be the cause of that. But that mix of desperation and terror… it just wasn't right. Not even the hungriest whore plying her trade ever looked at him like that. As if her whole world would fall apart if he left.

All this, after just one day? This Gilfre must be at her wit's end. But then, he knew that already. From the moment she jumped at the chance to give him work. From the moment he saw the state of the mill.

It was just… such a shame. If he had a type, Gilfre would be it. A beautiful woman not afraid of hard work, one who didn't think him beneath her just because he was an Orc. One who tried to give her best to those who showed they were willing to work just as hard. He could respect that.

And she even offered…

Kharag sneered at his own thoughts and turned to his other side, pulling the thin blanket closer to his body.

He had a feeling her offer would haunt him for some time to come.

-mixedwaters-mixedwaters-mixedwaters-

A/N: Aaaand that's it. This is all I wrote until now so I can't tell when the next part will be ready. I have 'a masterplan' meaning I know what's about to happen, so no chance of a total writer's block, but I can't promise steady updates.

I hope you liked it :)


End file.
